Della's Secret
by Julia451
Summary: Who is Huey's, Dewey's, Louie's father? On the anniversary of Della Duck's death, Scrooge finally learns the truth about the secret that has baffled their family for years.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** Based on the cut pages released in Don Rosa's commentary for his story **Return To Xanadu**, published in **Uncle Scrooge #261** (1991)._

* * *

" '_Yet no penny of his wealth had been obtained by force or fraud; he was guilty of nothing, except that he earned his own fortune and never forgot that it was his.' _How dare she! I'll sue her for catch phrase infringement!" Scrooge McDuck declared as he slammed closed the book that seemed to paraphrase his own motto. He was three-quarters of the way up Killmotor Hill by now. It had been a suspiciously peaceful walk so far – that couldn't be a good sign. As he got closer to the entrance to his office building/money bin, he brandished his cane before him, ready for anything. He wasn't disappointed.

The salesman seemed to materialize out of thin air (a secret power with which they were all endowed, apparently). "Mr. McDuck! Have I got an amazing offer for you! You won't believe how..."

"You have three seconds to get back where you came from."

"But, Mr. McDuck, you haven't even seen..."

Making it this far this morning without being accosted left Scrooge decidedly not in the mood for dealing with this today. He sighed, looked at the book under his left arm, and tossed it over his shoulder. The 1,000-plus page volume conked the man right on the head and knocked him out cold. "... But I have to give her credit for creating such an effective weapon," Scrooge chuckled as he walked past the security guards into his building.

As usual, Scrooge walked across the entry hall to his private elevator without saying a word to any of his employees, for which they, as usual, were grateful. His secretary could enjoy no such luxury; her boss exited the elevator on the top floor every morning in full attack mode, and today was no exception: "Quackfaster! Get Rockerduck on the phone, and don't hang up until he's ready to talk to me personally! We're going to settle that deal today if it's the last thing I do!"

"Yes, Mr. McDuck!" she gasped, already dialing the phone.

Scrooge continued into his office, closed the door behind him, hung up his cane, sat down at his desk, and opened the file on top of the stack. He never wasted a second on a single superfluous action in this office – time had to be saved like money if it was to be spent making money. He was deep in his natural element of figures and profits and reports, unaware of the passage of time, cut off from the outside world, when the sound of a door opening and closing brought him abruptly back to it.

"Whoever you are, get back out there and tell my secretary she's fired!" Scrooge said, not raising his eyes from the file until he heard the intruder speak.

Her voice instantly struck him speechless. "She's on the phone, Scroogey. You wouldn't want her to hold the line just for me now, would you – do you know what phone bills cost these days?" The old woman walked across the room towards him. She wore a long green trenchcoat, and her gray hair was tied up in a loose bun. She carried a thick, heavy book under her right arm, which she dropped loudly onto the desk as she glared down at the man staring at her as if he couldn't believe she was real. This reaction evidently didn't surprise her, as she simply crossed her arms and patiently waited for him to come to his senses.

Eventually, Scrooge blinked and gave her a matching glare as he gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. "I think you've lost your way, madame – Scotland is one country and one ocean over."

"There are dozens of plays I could make on the words 'lost your way,' but I don't have the time to choose one right now..."

Scrooge slammed the file down on his desk. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Don't worry, Scroogey, I didn't come here to see you. I'm looking for Donald. Since this is a weekday, I figured this was the only place he could be."

"He's not here," Scrooge said laconically. "Want his address?"

Scrooge picked up a pen and poised it over a sticky note pad, when he heard her say, "I already stopped by his place – no one was home," and put it down (no sense wasting ink).

"Well, he has the day off, so don't expect to find him here." He pushed his chair back, walked over to the file cabinet, opened the drawer at chest level, and took out a folder. He had no idea what was in it and didn't care, as long as it meant he didn't have to look at his visitor.

"One of _your_ employees has the day off?" he heard her gasp. "I _must_ be lost – you can't be Scrooge McDuck."

"I _know_ what day it is today, Matilda," he said flatly, his head bent over the random file and his back to her.

"Please, Scroogey, I don't know how much more shock I can handle."

Realizing his sister wasn't going to take the hint, Scrooge gave up pretending to read, put the file back in the wrong place, and shoved the drawer closed. He turned around, and the two siblings stood facing each other across forty-five years of contempt and anger that one adventure and apology had not been strong enough to completely erase.

Matilda broke the silence by turning aside and wondering aloud, "If they're not at home, they must have gone to..." She closed her eyes briefly and sighed before finishing. "Well, I don't want to interrupt them." She turned back to her brother. "If you see Donald or the boys, tell them I'll see them at Elvira's this evening. I'll just give this to them then."

With that, she picked her book back up from the desk. Scrooge now noticed how familiar it looked."Still scrapbooking, I see?" he observed.

"You're not the only one in this family with a life worth remembering, you know."

Scrooge suddenly had an unsettling suspicion of whose life _this_ one was remembering – a life he knew little more than nothing about. Despite his intention to conceal it, his sister must have detected some sign of curiosity in him because, even though she'd appeared on the verge of leaving, she walked back to the desk and opened the scrapbook. Realizing he'd already failed to hide his interest from her, Scrooge joined her.

"I made this for the boys," Matilda said simply.

As Scrooge expected, the book started with photos of a young boy and girl playing together – in a schoolyard, in a park, in their living room, on a beautiful farm – always smiling and laughing, always glowing with the joy of those who saw life as a great adventure full of wonderful secrets to be uncovered (their ancestors would have been proud to know they inherited it). He'd only seen the girl once in his life – actually, he'd only seen the boy once, too (the next time Scrooge saw him, he was a man) – but he could never forget that one image in his mind of the two of them. Even if he had, Scrooge was sure he would have recognized her anyway; she had the same fiery look in her eyes as her mother, as her own adventurous little boys...

Matilda didn't look up at him once as she slowly turned the pages. "Hortense and Quackmore had been trying to have kids for years. They were beginning to think they'd never be able to when the twins finally came along. We were all so thrilled to have them. They were the little miracles of the family; everyone loved them so much." The pictures of the young ducklings with their parents, aunts and uncles (and one particularly annoying cousin), and grandparents confirmed this.

"Della was always the sweetest little girl," her aunt mused. "Oh, she inherited her parents' temper, just like her brother... that was probably why they were so close. Except when he called her 'Dumbella,' of course – then war was declared. But they could never stay mad at each other for long. I moved back to Scotland when they were ten..." (The fact that she didn't elaborate on why, or explain what happened that year to make her sick of Duckburg, only seemed to emphasize that point for Scrooge.) "...but Hortense and I wrote each other every week. They seemed like the happiest kids and the happiest family... well, almost." Her voice trailed off.

It seemed to Scrooge like it took a long time for him to muster the resolve to ask, "What happened, Matilda?"

"We have no idea," Matilda answered, as the children in the photos became slightly older. "Ah... Donald may have inherited more of the McDuck fire, but Della inherited the McDuck wanderlust. She had the same craving for adventure and travel; she seemed to be bursting with energy that couldn't be satisfied by anything less than conquering the world. No matter how bigger and more bustling it grew, Duckburg was always too small to contain her. I'm sure the stories about her ancestors' home far across the sea didn't help. She wanted to be free to find her own adventures – Hortense and Quackmore never realized how much. Even if they had, what could they have done about it? Then one day, when she was sixteen, she took matters into her own hands. They woke up, and she was gone."

Scrooge saw that Matilda had included clippings from newspapers showing Della's picture and pleas if anybody had seen her, letters she sent home with no return address or any details other than that she was safe and didn't want anyone to worry, pictures of the parents and brother and grandparents during the months they spent in mourning... all sorts of things to do justice to the horrible sense of loss the family lived with during the period she was gone. "Hortense and Quackmore were devastated. Donald... oh, I can't even describe it. I thought I should come be with them as soon as I got word, but they asked me to stay home in case she came to Scotland. She never did. We thought we'd never see her again."

Then, as abruptly as the girl disappeared from the pages of photos, she was back. "And then, a few months later, she just walked back into the house one evening. I came over as soon I heard, I had to find out what happened right away, but I might as well have saved the plane ticket. She refused to say a word about where she went or what she'd done; no amount of pressing or begging or demanding could get a single detail out of her. She never spoke a word about it to anyone. All she said was: she had left of her own volition, she hadn't been in danger or hurt, she was sorry that she'd made everyone worry, and she had no intention of doing it again. Although they couldn't have been more thrilled to have her home, Quackmore was furious about her silence, and Hortense was terrified. I was just hopelessly confused like Elvira and Humperdink. Donald was the only one who didn't question her, I think – he was just glad to have her back and didn't care about the rest. But, no matter how we felt, it didn't make any difference – she wouldn't tell us anything, and she gave us no clues. She was in perfect health; she didn't seem to have suffered any lasting damage. The only change I could see in her was that she seemed subdued and melancholy for the first few weeks, but Hortense soon wrote that she was back to her familiar lively self. I was certain the truth would come out eventually, but it never did. Hortense and Quackmore would never be satisfied, but what could they do? They had no intention of throwing her out. So, they went on with their lives. Everyone fell back into their old routine, including Della. Despite the odd circumstances, things seemed to be getting back to normal, until..." She didn't need to specify that "until."

Matilda was silent for so long that Scrooge began to think that was the end of it, but she shook it off, sighed, and went on: "She never told us who the father was. As soon as I heard, my immediate assumption was that _that_ was the reason she ran away, but it turned out the timing made that impossible. Besides, Della was more shocked than anyone at the news – she couldn't have tried to hide something when she had no idea she had anything to hide. We all begged and pleaded with her to tell us the truth but to no avail. Quackmore took it the worst – he was convinced that she refused to say who the father was because she didn't know. He even went so far as to say he was glad his father was no longer alive to see this happen. Hortense got as furious with him for that as she was at Della. It was horrible; the skirmishes I saw Poppa and Uncle Jake get into with the Whiskervilles were nothing compared to the Ducks at that time. Della felt like she'd destroyed the family. The one person who stood by her completely was Donald. He was as stunned as the rest of us, he was sad because she was suffering, and he wanted to know the truth as much as anybody, but he still stood by her. It was quite impressive for a seventeen-year-old, actually.

"None of us could stay angry with her forever, though, and, in spite of her persistent secrecy, the storm eventually blew itself out. She knew we still loved her, that we would always love her, no matter what. Even though she wouldn't explain how it happened, she admitted she made a mistake and said she intended to take full responsibility for it, and she found a job to prove it. She was devastated over how difficult she knew it would make things for us, but we were determined to manage. We were all each other had, and we stuck together like a family."

The family in the photographs was significantly bigger now. "Once the boys came, I think all circumstances were forgotten," Matilda continued, with the first smile she'd shown for a few pages. "They brightened all our lives. We couldn't imagine life without them. I was only able to come see them once when they were babies, but just knowing that they were alive, growing and thriving, receiving their pictures and Della's letters in the mail somehow made every day seem more special. I'm so glad Hortense and Quackmore got to see them before the accident." Her smile disappeared as she turned the next page. Scrooge turned aside before he could see the obituary or article about the car crash or photos of the funeral or whatever else Matilda had included to document the sudden death of their sister and her husband.

Scrooge didn't turn back to the book until he heard Matilda turn the page. "Things were hard after that, but we did all we could to help Della and the boys when they needed it over the next few years. Della even met a man whom she said would make a great father. The boys didn't like him very much; they played all sorts of horrible pranks on him. I never met him, but I never got the impression Della was madly in love with him. Still, I didn't expect him to up and leave her like he did when she fell ill."

Determined not to show the same weakness again, Scrooge looked closely at the letters Della had sent Donald and the boys from the hospital, the photos of them going to cheer her up in her hospital room, the newspaper's announcement of the young woman's untimely end, and the photos of the funeral and the place where she was laid to rest.

Matilda seemed to find this time the hardest to look back on. "It didn't seem fair that we'd gotten her back only to lose her again just a few years later..." Her voice broke, and she changed the subject: "I missed Della terribly, but at the time, I was more worried about the triplets. I knew I couldn't take them away from their lives in Duckburg, but I couldn't imagine who _could_ take care of them. If Humperdink had still been alive, it might have been a different story, but Elvira was all on her own with only Gus to help her with the farm – she couldn't possibly take care of three boys. Della had asked Donald to look after them, and he promised her he would, but he knew as well as the rest of us that he couldn't afford to take them in full-time. In fact, he thought _that_ would be the worst thing for them... until Elvira suggested they ask Daphne's son Gladstone. He always had plenty of money, he'd have plenty of time for them because he never needed to work, and he never made a fuss about anything because nothing ever troubled him; I understand why it seemed like a good idea to her. Well, that settled it – I don't know why, but the thought of it was more than Donald could bear. He refused to let that happen. He took Della's boys in, and he's raised them as his own ever since."

Judging by Matilda's account, the family had no other options, no other possibilities, nobody else to turn to. She mentioned no other names or made the slightest allusion to anyone she hadn't mentioned. There was nothing accusatory in her tone or eyes. Yet, something that he could neither see nor hear gave Scrooge the sudden need to defend himself. The next words he said were, "It wasn't his responsibility. She had no right to force that duty on him..."

Matilda instantly rounded on him. "Maybe he didn't do it from some selfless sense of duty! Maybe he did it because he _wanted_ to! Because he loved them! Because they meant more to him than anything and he was willing to pay any price!"

Matilda may condemn greed as much as the next duck, but she could still speak the McDuck language; Scrooge didn't mention this observation out loud but instead said, staring down at the last page, "Well, he must be proud of how they turned out."

"We all are," said Matilda, in a tone that made it clear whom that "we" referred to... and whom it excluded.

"As am I," Scrooge said, with an edge in his voice that he couldn't suppress. "That's why I named them sole heirs to my fortune and assets."

Matilda simply shrugged at that. "Well, they certainly deserve it," she said nonchalantly. "I guess the four of you got really close while Donald was away on duty."

"I made them my heirs _before_ that," Scrooge informed her.

Matilda didn't seem to hear him. "Hortense and Della would have been thrilled..." she said softly, with a new smile. "Just what the boys need."

"Yes, their future is secure," Scrooge agreed.

"I didn't mean a fortune, I meant another..." She stopped and laughed briefly at herself. "But you wouldn't want to hear that." Her mood changed as she picked up her scrapbook up and closed it with a sigh. "Not my best work, of course – there's so much left out, so many missing pages, so many unexplained gaps."

"Evidently, that's how Della wanted it," was all Scrooge could think to say.

Matilda shook her head. "But _why_? Why wouldn't she tell us?"

"No last-minute confessions?" Scrooge asked.

"Nothing. She took her secrets to her grave." Anger – the last defense of the grieving – now reared its head. "How could she do this to them? Didn't she ever think of what it would mean for her sons? Boys need a father!"

"They _have_ one," Scrooge reminded her.

"They have _two_ excellent father-figures..." (Scrooge was glad he had the desk to support him when Matilda finished the thought she'd begun earlier that she knew he wouldn't want to hear.) "...but it's not the same, and it's not fair!"

Eager to steer the conversation away from certain channels, Scrooge tried saying, "Maybe she thought they were better off not knowing, for some reason."

"Well, we'll never know, will we?" Matilda's tone softened as she opened the scrapbook back up to the last few pages. "I can't let it go, Scrooge. Every time I think of Della, I wonder (I can't help it), who was he? Where is he? Is he still alive? How did they meet? Why did she leave him... or he leave her? Why such secrecy? Oh, Huey, Dewey, Louie... who is their father?"

Scrooge removed his spectacles and gave them a good wiping with the cloth he pulled from his pocket. He had no answer. This was Della's business – who were they to pry? Let her have her secrets. He put his spectacles back on and said, "Stop torturing yourself, Matilda. 'Who is Huey's, Dewey's, and Louie's father?' 'Why is a raven like a writing desk?' Why ask questions nobody can answer?"

"You _would_ say that, Scrooge," Matilda replied, knowingly, but Scrooge had no time to comment on that before she closed the book again and headed for the door. "Like I said, if Donald or the boys are looking for me, tell them I'll be at Elvira's – I'm staying with her for the two days I'm here."

"You come visit for every anniversary of her death?" Scrooge asked, confused.

"Of course not," answered Matilda. "I couldn't stand the sight of Duckburg until this year." Scrooge didn't ask her what had changed; they both knew, and the memory of their last meeting was at least strong enough to let them part peacefully.


	2. Chapter 2

"Same to you, Rockerduck!" Scrooge slammed the phone down, grateful that that conversation was over. He glanced at his clock. It had taken him less than twenty minutes to get the deal he wanted from that spendthrift. Now what?

For the hundredth time since his sister had left a few hours ago, his eyes flitted to the office door. He spun his chair around to stop himself from looking at it anymore. He had nowhere to go, no errands to run, no need to take a break, no reason to leave this room; he definitely wasn't considering going anywhere. He looked up at the view through his window. The sky was covered in light gray clouds. It would probably rain anyway. Anyone who was outside would probably be heading home soon to beat it. Which meant nothing to him.

Unable to choose a task to focus on next, Scrooge stood up and walked over to the door to the vault. Maybe he'd work off some of this excess energy in an early morning swim. He put his hand on the edge of the door and almost panicked when it didn't swing open before he remembered he hadn't unlocked it yet today. There had been no need to without Donald or the kids to send in on some assignment. Well, good – he could have some peace and quiet for a change. He started turning the dial on the first combination lock. Where were the boys were right now if they weren't at home? There was only one logical place they would go on this day. Maybe they'd already gone to the farm by now, though. Matilda would be there by now, too...

Confound it, he'd spun too far! He set the dial back to zero to start again. Well, she must have been glad to find them there waiting for her. They were probably looking at her new masterpiece right now. Was it a surprise, or had she told them what she was working on? Maybe Donald had even asked her to do it as a treat (or... some more accurate word) for the boys... Wait, was it past zero on this number or the next? The boys were probably driving her and Donald and Grandma crazy with questions about every picture. Would Matilda tell them what she'd told him this morning, or would she think they were too young? Donald had probably told them the story of their mother's disappearance already, anyway; he wasn't one to keep secrets.

One down, three to go. Scrooge moved over to the next lock. Come to think of it, it was odd that he had never heard about what happened to Della until now. Granted, Scrooge had had no contact with the Ducks for decades, but, before today, he had still learned nothing about his niece since reconnecting with them. Donald hardly ever mentioned her, the lads never mentioned her, Elvira never mentioned her, he had almost never heard anyone in their family discuss her before. Drat, that was the old combination before he changed it after that night when the Beagle Boys broke in. Back to the beginning... Not that Scrooge had ever asked them about her directly or shown the slightest interest in her, but if he hadn't remembered seeing Della that one day or hearing about her in a few scattered letters, he doubted he ever would have guessed she existed. Hortense and her husband hadn't been forgotten when they died – why had their daughter? Especially if everyone loved her as much as Matilda claimed. Scrooge now wondered how much of that was true and how much was idealized.

Finally – two down. Scrooge guessed Matilda would try to put on an even happier front for the boys than she had for him. No doubt she wanted to make a day like this happier for them, by telling them funny stories about pranks their mother and uncle had played on Grandpa and Grandma when they were kids or something. They'd focus on stories from happier times, right? What were their niece and nephew like then? He hadn't asked Matilda about those times... Hold it, he'd just dialed the fourth combination, not the third... The boys would notice if she was trying to hide anything, of course; nothing escaped their curiosity. Maybe they wouldn't feel comfortable asking questions about things like their father around Donald, though. Did he or Matilda have any theories about who it could be? Anyone in Duckburg she was ever close to? After all, maybe she hadn't run away alone. If the newspapers contained any stories about any other sudden disappearances around that time...

Scrooge pounded his fist against the metal door and gave up. What was wrong with him this morning? Why couldn't he focus? He needed a cup of nutmeg tea. He started heading for the door but quickly changed course and walked back to his desk instead. He'd ask Miss Quackfaster to bring him a mug of hot water from the anteroom. As he reached towards the intercom, his eyes fell on the framed photograph of him and Donald and the lads taken the day Donald had returned from the Navy. Their team was complete again. They hadn't taken any new trips together yet, though, which seemed to be fine with Donald – he'd been thrilled to join the Navy and see the world for slightly more than 30 cents an hour per trip, but now he was thrilled to be back home with his boys. Would Della have wanted to join them on their trips around the world hunting for treasure? She certainly would have, judging by Matilda's description. She could have had all the adventure she wanted and then some if she'd still been alive... if he'd gotten to know them earlier... if he hadn't ignored them until it was too late...

The thought of how much the glass would cost to replace caught Scrooge in just enough time to stop him from slamming the photo down. He turned his back on it and walked to the window instead. The sky didn't look any darker. Maybe the rain wouldn't start for a while. It would be more efficient for Donald if it did; this wasn't the type of day one took off to enjoy. It didn't matter where he had gone or what he was doing today. Scrooge had no idea, no place in mind... His head automatically turned around towards the door again and he jerked it back. There was no place he was thinking of going. He would rather be here in his money bin than anywhere else on any day...

This was the first time Scrooge could ever remember sighing in relief upon hearing the phone ring. Whoever it was, he couldn't wait to talk to them. Anything to get his mind back on track! He practically sprinted over to his desk. "Yes, Miss Quackfaster?" he asked, apparently too eagerly – she seemed too stunned by the absence of his customary fury at being interrupted to answer.

She finally replied, "Um, Mr. Glomgold on line 1 for you, sir."

Scrooge put the receiver down without a word. _Anything but that..._ He decided that he needed a break after all. There was nothing more natural than storming out after getting this kind of call. He grabbed his hat and cane and marched out, not bothering to give an explanation to Miss Quackfaster, who was already following the standard procedure for when she got such a response from her boss to a call. The voice of an angry Scotsman bellowing at her as she took notes was the last sound Scrooge heard before the elevator doors closed.

The downside of the least-expensive mode of transportation was that walking, unlike a taxi or bus, provided no escape from the salesmen, lawyers, charity collectors, protestors, reporters, students of the entitled mindset of the League To Abolish Billionaires, and other moochers foolish enough to approach Scrooge McDuck for money. On most days, if they were lucky, they would get a sarcastic remark or an annoyed, blunt, "No!" or "Get lost!" from him; if not, those who couldn't dodge fast enough might get a tap on the head from his cane, and amateurs who hadn't learned the warning signs had been known to cause an eruption of temper that sent bystanders fleeing for miles. Today was one of the rare days when the billionaires' stalkers got _no_ response from him except the occasional glare. He strolled by them all without a single word, not even bothering to wave aside the business cards thrust at him or acknowledge their presence in any way except to walk around them when necessary. He didn't even know who they were or what they said any more than he knew where he was going.

He had no destination in mind; he just needed to move to get some fresh air, to clear his head. He guessed at one point that he was walking in circles, but that was fine with him. When he felt himself beginning to notice he was walking purposefully in one direction, he stopped and looked at the sky for something else to notice. It was definitely going to rain soon. He ought to head back to the office. He kept walking ahead.

Before long, Scrooge found himself walking alongside a tall wall of gray stone covered in ivy. He kept walking with his head down and a protective scowl on his face until he reached the street corner and stopped to wait for the light to change. When it did, he didn't cross the street but stood still for a minute before turning around and walking back the way he'd come past the same wall. This time, he walked around the corner until he stopped in front of an open gate of iron bars. He refused to look at the sign, but it didn't matter. He had to recognize now that his walk had brought him to the Duckburg Cemetery.

Scrooge could count the number of times he'd been in there on one hand – most of the people inside, he had no need nor desire to visit, and if there were a few he did, he had no right. He had no business coming here. What was the point? He'd never felt the urge to come here before. Why should this day be any different? What did he expect to find? What good did he expect it to do? Matilda would think it horribly presumptuous of him, no doubt, and there were so many more productive things he could be doing at this moment. He should forget everything she'd told him this morning and go get back to work. It was no concern of his. The past was past. He couldn't change what his family had been through... his family...

Without understanding why he was doing it, Scrooge walked slowly through the gate and down the center path that led amongst the graves. He vaguely remembered where he'd gone the last time he'd been here, and he assumed that what he was looking for now would be somewhere near there. He was in no hurry to find it, however; he strolled idly past the headstones, glad he could see no other visitors he'd need to avoid, wondering if it was his imagination that there seemed to be less wind and less sounds of birds singing here than on the other side of the wall. He occasionally glanced down among the bouquets and wreaths of wilting flowers to note names that meant nothing to him, that didn't even ring the faintest bells. It was around a curve behind a small slope so that the streets were now hidden from view that that changed.

The monument to Cornelius Coot wasn't barbarically ostentatious (nothing more than was appropriate for the founder of the small settlement that became a bustling metropolis two generations later), but it was impressive enough and the path worn-down enough that there was no excuse for anyone taking as long as Scrooge had to find it. He took even longer looking at all the nearby graves and monuments for Coot's famous family, slowly working his way down to his son Clinton and his children. He caught himself lingering particularly before the grave of Casey Coot – the one friend he'd formed in the Yukon, the one person who hadn't resented him for striking it rich and not throwing his fortune away in the saloons of Dawson, the one who had sold him the land that became his home and the center of his empire, before shaking himself and abruptly hurrying on.

He came to the point where the Coot and the Duck families began to weave together. The Ducks were bordered by the Coots' headstones on the left and a line of their above-ground vaults in the back. Scrooge wouldn't have looked at Humperdink Duck's grave if he could have helped it, or at the bare plot of earth next to him that seemed to be waiting for his wife... Casey's sister... Donald's grandmother...

Scrooge stopped here and stared down at the ground without seeing anything. He was remembering the night they'd all been eating dinner together at the farm, when Hortense and Quackmore announced their engagement – that is, when Quackmore announced it, and Hortense exploded with rage because she had wanted to be the one to tell them, and their relatives pushed their chairs a safe distance back and discussed it amongst themselves until the bride-and-groom-to-be were finished. Quackmore's sister Daphne looked surprised but aloofly pleased, as if she approved but it wasn't much concern to her either way. Matilda rolled her eyes and smirked, as if wondering what had taken them so long. Elvira and Humperdink couldn't have been more ecstatic. Scrooge thought his sister and her boyfriend were both fools but said nothing aloud except a neutral "Congratulations" that they were too riled up to hear anyway. Not for the first time, the fiery young couple reminded him too much of that night after he'd chased that "rescue" posse off his claim, and he had to excuse himself early that evening. Hortense sarcastically "apologized" to him the next day for expecting him to be happy for her, and he hadn't been able to explain that he _was_ happy for her because he refused to let himself know why he couldn't bear the sight of two people so aggressive and violent with each other ready to start a life together.

Of course, the explosive little lovebirds cared too little for Scrooge's opinion to let his seeming indifference bother them. The big row didn't come until later that week, when he accompanied his sisters on a visit to the Ducks' farm so he could seal a new land purchase. They were at the door saying their good-byes when he heard Elvira tell Hortense, "Just call us Pa and Ma from now on," before turning to him and Matilda and adding, "That goes for you, too – we're family now." Scrooge hadn't trusted himself to say anything but turned and marched out without another word. Once they got home, his sisters kept him busy arguing halfway through the night until he'd called them both traitors and thrown that letter at them – the one they'd received from Scottie just a few weeks after they'd arrived here explaining their father had died the very day they'd left Scotland! – before storming up to bed.

Scrooge eventually convinced himself that the girls only called their future in-laws "Ma and Pa" from then on just to annoy him. Elvira had assured him one day, before he could stop her, that she understood, but Humperdink never had. Maybe he died thinking his daughter-in-law's brother hated him and his wife, even his whole family, because he'd stubbornly insisted on seeing a gesture of love as an attempt to replace their real parents...

This was why visiting graves was pointless – it only brought to mind things that it was too late to worry about. Scrooge shook his head and moved along. Daphne wasn't here, of course; she was over with her husband's family – all the luck in the world couldn't keep them out of here forever. No, next was a double headstone shared by Quackmore Duck and the woman who had linked the Ducks to the Clan McDuck.

Scrooge stared intensely at Quackmore's picture, refusing to let his gaze wander. He'd never gotten to know his brother-in-law very well. He hadn't been hired as their office manager until right before Scrooge left Duckburg for what would turn out to be a few decades. Although he'd never let them know, Scrooge wouldn't have chosen anyone else, but it wasn't because of favoritism, familial loyalty, or any impressive sign of skill on Quackmore's part – only because Scrooge trusted no one, and his sister's fiancé felt like the least insecure choice he could hope for. They'd actually been closer during Scrooge's twenty-seven year long trek around the globe when their only communication was the rare letters they absolutely needed to exchange than they'd ever been when they both lived in Duckburg. Judging by the state of the business when he returned home, he'd done a good job. Scrooge wondered if Hortense's husband (his mind betrayed him by thinking that name just now!) had taken his place with his sisters while he was gone. At the thought, his eyes roved against his will to the other side of the grave.

The sight still seemed unreal to Scrooge. Something in his mind insisted she didn't belong here, just as it had that day several weeks after he read that article about the accident. He could picture his sister bringing him one of her dolls that needed its arm reattached... waving good-bye to him as he set sail for America... smacking him to his senses whenever he got carried away in the office... chasing the entire army of Roosevelt's Rough Riders down Killmotor Hill single-handedly... anywhere but here. How could she have gone before he got the chance to... It served him right – Matilda's forgiveness was already more than he deserved; he'd lost so many years with her, but he'd lost Hortense forever. All he had was her son and three grandsons, so like her, it would have been torture if he'd let it. Maybe that was why it was so hard to believe she was really gone – he saw so much of her in them. And according to Matilda, they weren't the only ones she'd passed the McDuck spirit onto...

Scrooge looked around but couldn't see the name he was now looking for anywhere; the graves next to the Ducks on this side belonged to another family. Had they run out of room? He tried to remember the pictures Matilda had shown him, but the area looked different now, and he couldn't place the scene in the photographs. He left the path and walked through the rows of graves behind his sister and the most recent Ducks. He couldn't go far before he had to walk around the corner of one of the Coot vaults. The sight on the other side froze him in his tracks. He somehow managed to collect himself enough to dash back behind the vault before Donald or the boys could have known he was there.

As Matilda had obviously guessed, they had come here, but contrary to what Scrooge had guessed, they hadn't left yet. Trying to ignore the morbidity of his hiding place, Scrooge took a deep breath and peered carefully back around the corner. Well, he'd found the place – a few rows away, fortunately not close enough for Donald or the lads to hear or notice him, if he was careful. He didn't even entertain the thought of going up to them; he had no right to intrude on their grief. They belonged here; he didn't. The least he could do was leave them in peace.

In spite of the circumstances, Scrooge had enough attention to spare on wondering why Della would have been buried so far from her family. Maybe the daughter had never figured into their plans, which had assumed she would join her husband's family. Maybe neither of the children had figured into their plans; according to Matilda, they'd all but given up on ever having any. Or maybe she had sugar-coated the past and the girl had never been completely forgiven for the most heinous crime a woman could commit.

Scrooge sighed as he looked at the lads gathered around their mother's grave, remembering what Matilda had told him about them. He had always suspected Della's story contained some scandal like that – there could be only one explanation why a girl's entire existence would be wiped from her family's memory. He found it telling that Matilda had never explained why Della's family _never_ talked about her. Her sons could not have been treated better, but it was as if their family had completely forgotten where they came from; they were loved, but their origins were never discussed. She had been exiled from their memory as if she were never born, or had died before growing up. There was only one thing a girl could do to warrant such silence about her life.

Scrooge believed Della's family had loved her, like Matilda said, and ultimately stood by her, but love and anger, love and shame, anger and duty, were _not_ mutually exclusive (even Matilda's own love and anger towards her niece seemed perfectly equal). Besides, dying had a tendency to make everyone more inclined to remember you fondly; people could be loved much more in death than they'd ever been in life. He didn't think Della's case was that extreme, but he wouldn't be surprised if her family became much more forgiving after she died.

Or maybe talking about her was just too painful for her family, especially because of the mysteries surrounding her. Scrooge shook himself out of his reverie. He knew too little about family dynamics to speculate about such things. Besides, it was none of his business. He looked over at the boys again. He should leave before they caught him trespassing like this; he'd already violated their privacy enough by walking in on them like this. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder what coming here felt like for them. He was glad his memories of the day he'd received the news of his own mother's death were hazy. Unfortunately, his memory of that night, once he was free to process the information, was all too vivid, and he'd been a grown man; he couldn't imagine what it had been like for three young boys. On the other hand, Scrooge had been all alone, and they at least had had Donald if not the rest of their family to help them through it...

For the first time since he'd met them, Scrooge suddenly wondered with horror what would have happened to the lads if Donald hadn't been there to step up for them. What would they have done? Would Elvira and the others have come to him for help? That just might be the most foolish thing he'd ever thought – of course they wouldn't have! No matter how bad things got, they never would have considered that an option, not with how he'd treated them back then. But supposing they _had_, that they felt like they had no choice, that he'd been their last resort and they had to take it... the person he'd been back then... would he have helped them? He couldn't think about the answer to that.

_Well, you've more than made up for it_, he tried to tell himself. He'd left the boys his entire empire, after all. He'd given them his entire fortune – what more could he give them? What more could they need?

_The truth about their past_, he answered. That's what he would have wanted, had he been in their position. But looking at them all held tight in their uncle's arms made him decide he was wrong. Donald loved the boys, and they loved and looked up to him – what other father did they need? It was only Scrooge and Matilda who wished they could have known the truth, for their sister's sake, not for their niece's or grand-nephews'; they ought to accept that they would never know.

The first clap of thunder of the day finally struck. The boys stood up as if they were preparing to leave. Scrooge ducked back behind the vault, hoping they wouldn't pass this way, when he sensed another sudden movement at the same time a short distance away to his left. He looked over and saw a shadow near the base of a tree. He hoped whoever was walking by wouldn't bother the boys or alert them to his presence. It wasn't until about a minute had passed that Scrooge realized the shadow wasn't moving. That was odd, but just as he was beginning to doubt if the movement had been made by another person at all, the boys turned to their right and began walking – fortunately, not through the graves near Scrooge but down the row alongside their mother's and sister's. As they passed the tree, the shadow circled around to the side facing Scrooge, and a hand and arm appeared clutching the bark.

Scrooge couldn't make out the person, but he was grateful that he hadn't wanted to disturb the family he'd accidentally stumbled across. Scrooge decided to wait until whoever it was left and the boys were out of sight before going up to Della's grave (he might as well do that before he left, or he would have come out here for nothing, right?), but the figure never budged even after Donald and the kids were gone. What was he waiting for? This city was definitely full of weirdos – you would have thought he hadn't simply been trying not to disturb them but was... hiding from them?

The wind was picking up, and the clouds had already rolled in and made the afternoon unnaturally dark. Not wanting to get stuck out here in the rain, Scrooge shook his head in annoyance at the loiterer and began to step out from his hiding place, but some instinct made him stop. Instead of walking over to his niece's grave, he stayed still and strained to get a better look at the stranger. He finally crept around the tree and let Scrooge see he was a duck wearing a long trenchcoat, hat, and sunglasses – not exactly the most inconspicuous attire. Scrooge wondered what he was doing here. Probably paying a visit of his own – what else could he be doing? The strange duck looked around him in every direction before walking slowly up to the last grave Scrooge would have predicted – the one the boys had just left. If he didn't know better, Scrooge would have thought he was afraid to be seen... visiting Della Duck's grave!

Echoes of distant thunder continued to rumble as Scrooge, his annoyance now turned to positive suspicion, tried to figure out what he was seeing. Who would follow his nephews here and why? Of course, maybe the boys had nothing to do with it; maybe he had followed Scrooge here – it wasn't that uncommon an occurrence for the billionaire. But Scrooge was positive no one had been around when he entered the cemetery, and while he'd been waiting here so cautious and alert, there was no way he wouldn't have noticed someone approaching; too many years of guarding against claim jumpers had made him too vigilant for that. The stranger must have already been hiding here before Scrooge arrived.

The question was, had he been hiding here before the boys, too, or followed them here? Scrooge waited to see if he would go after them, but he seemed frozen before Della's grave. That was all Scrooge could see with his back towards him, but it was enough to make him doubt that the stranger had been trying to follow the boys without being noticed. Had he been here before they arrived and hidden when he heard someone coming? Why? Why had he come to Della Duck's grave in the first place?

Unlike with his nephews, Scrooge had no qualms about interrupting whoever this was and demanding to know what he was up to. He stepped out from behind the vault and walked up behind the other duck, keeping a tighter grip than usual on his cane. He was only a few feet away when the stranger collapsed to his knees. He seemed to be inexplicably trembling with silent sobs, evidently still unaware that he wasn't alone. Scrooge had the sudden urge to turn around and pretend he'd never been here, but he only paused for a second before ignoring it. He did, however, say in a much softer voice than he had planned, "Hey, you there..."

The stranger started and stiffened but otherwise didn't move. His head shot up, but he didn't turn around. Scrooge stepped closer and asked, "Are you a friend of Donald's? What were you hiding from back there?" He heard the stranger gasp – not in fright but in disbelief, it seemed to Scrooge, however little sense that made to him. "Look, whoever you are, I'll have you know that I'm..." Scrooge didn't get the chance to finish before the other duck jumped to his feet and ran for it.

Having expected this reaction, Scrooge didn't give him much of a lead. He quickly got ahead of him and yelled, "Hold it right there!" as he stopped in front of him, brandishing his cane, but the stranger quickly changed direction and kept running. Scrooge chased him through the obstacle course of headstones, no longer wasting any breath on words, thoroughly convinced he was up to something now. Scrooge stayed right on his tail until he realized he was heading for the entrance. Thinking quickly, Scrooge darted around and cut him off before he could reach the gate. He turned and ran to the wall instead and leaped as if he planned to climb and jump. He had just managed to grab the edge when Scrooge snagged his ankle with his cane.

"Not so fast!" Scrooge yelled as he pulled the other duck down. He tried to run again once he'd landed, but Scrooge backed him up against the wall with his cane. "You're not going anywhere 'til I get some answers! What are you doing here? Who are you?"

The stranger's sunglasses fell off as he broke free from Scrooge, just as a gust of wind blew his hat off. These two events seemed to put an end to his desire to run, and his shoulders drooped in resignation as he stared blankly at his pursuer. Scrooge was frozen himself now. He thought at first that he didn't recognize the face before him, but, no... something about the handsome, slender young fellow with short black hair and very sad eyes was familiar, but Scrooge's memory just couldn't place him. When had they met? It wasn't until the duck said something – a single word of greeting that would sound like gibberish to any passersby who hadn't traded for years in Tibet – that Scrooge realized... But it was impossible! It made no sense! It couldn't be! But it was! Scrooge remembered where he had seen him before...


End file.
